Trade
by noone2
Summary: What would you be willing to give for your brother's life? Is there something worse than death? Is Dean saving Sam or is Sam saving Dean? Epilogue added.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: - Couldn't help it, the muse bit. Hope you enjoy.

I feel I should also point out that I had only seen the first half of season 1 when I wrote this, although I have subsequently read enough fanfic to get what the season finale was about. The similarities in plot were unintentional, so take this as set mid season 1

Synopsis: What would you give for your brother's life?

**Trade**

Sam coughed and blinked his eyes open, curling into the pain as it drew his breath, and he coughed again.

"Sam, Sammy," the voice was slightly rough, insistent, not matching the gentle touch to his cheek, the supportive hand around his back and shoulder. There was a deeper impatience to it, tinged with fear.

Sam finally blinked the pain induced tears from his eyes, and forced some sort of focus. His brother's eyes were wide and dark, and, whereas the fear had barely sounded in his voice, it was practically incandescent in his features.

"Dean?" Sam forced the name out and it sounded gravelly and weak, but from the way his brother's expression changed it looked like all of his Christmas wishes had arrived at once, the fear melted away for just a second and Dean gave a smile that flashed white teeth in stark contrast to his blackened features, and Sam heard the barely audible, "Thank God."

"Yeah Sam, you're gonna be OK," Dean stated, this time clear enough to be heard, and for a moment Sam thought he was going to pull him into a full embrace and hug him. Right about that moment it wouldn't have felt so bad, except maybe for the pain that still bit across his chest. He looked into his brother's eyes.

"What happened?" he asked, searching the fragments of memory that would not coalesce into a whole, for some idea of why he was lying on a filthy stone floor, in a room lit only by candlelight, of why pain stabbed across his chest and his head pounded and. . .The memories practically collided with his consciousness, drawing air from his lungs. He winced, not sure if it was from the physical pain or the terror that engulfed him. That thing had been literally tearing him apart and there was nothing he could do. He had seen the bodies, knew what was happening, with a sickening clarity, he knew.

"No," he whimpered, pulling back and scooting to the side, afraid of the figure next to him. For a moment unaware that it was his brother, that he was trying to help.

Dean felt the returning tension, saw the terror return as his brother pulled away from him and his heart ached with his own pain. He should have been here sooner, should have stopped it sooner.

Sam frantically scanned the room for any sign of the Demon that had been killing him. Not that he had much chance of seeing it. It only ever half formed, clouds of swirling blackness and flashes of silver and white, were all you ever saw, just before the claws raked down, and pain wiped vision, even as the form twisted again and disappeared in a swirling cloak of nothingness, and then there was the agonising wait, jumping at half shadows, watching and turning, not knowing where it was, where it would come from, where it would strike next. The fear stole his focus, the panic blurred his senses and consumed him for a moment in its intensity. Where was it now? Why couldn't he see it? When would it strike?

"Hey," Dean chased after his brother, "Calm down Sammy he's not here, he's gone." He bit off the for now, Sam did not need to hear that. Dean just had to get him out of here before he had to face that eventually and he swallowed hard, almost baulking at how difficult that task would be, but he had to, had to make him leave before. . .had to save at least one of them. He moved forward, allowing his hand to rest on his brother's cheek again, his other settling on his shoulder, drawing strength from the warmth, as he tried to quell the panicked reaction. "Can you hear me Sam? He's gone."

Sam continued to look around frantically, his head twisting in his brother's cupped hand, the words danced unprocessed at the edge of his consciousness. "Where was it ? How. .? Why. . ? Dean's presence suddenly registered again and he looked at his brother as thoughts finally connected. Dean? . .Dean was there? Dean was in danger too. He looked into his brother's eyes. "No," he stated with conviction. "You have to get out of here, you have to. . ."

Dean was having a hard time controlling his own fears, he couldn't remember seeing his brother this terrified before, small shivers ran through trembling muscles, blood dripped from the open wound that ran across his chest. "Sam," his hand dropped so that he now gripped both shoulders, attempting to stop his brother from twisting away again. He gave a slight shake. "Sam can you hear me? He's gone," he repeated as forcefully as he could.

Sam stopped struggling and stared into his brother's eyes as the words finally registered. "Gone," he repeated numbly.

Dean repeated it back to him "Gone," he stated.

Sam's shoulders, relaxed minutely, and Dean loosened his grip a little, but he was not ready to let go, not yet. He could still feel his brother shaking, could see the raw fear in his eyes.

"Are. . Are you sure?" Sam asked as his breathing became less ragged.

Dean nodded and even managed a half smile. "I'm sure. He won't be coming back after you," he stated with confidence.

Sam pulled a hand across his chest and dropped his head slightly as he attempted once again to breath through the pain. Complete trust in his brother's words sent relief coursing through his body like a warm flow. The adrenaline surge began to dissipate and he suddenly felt incredibly tired. The last of his memories finally connected and he gave another nod. "You found the crystal." It was a statement not a question. Destroying the crystal was the only thing that would stop the Demon and if it wasn't coming back then Dean must have found and destroyed the crystal.

There was only the slightest of shifts in the atmosphere in the room as Dean stood and backed away, but Sam sensed it, sensed that there was something wrong. Even if it wasn't a question Dean should have confirmed it. Should have been gloating about the fact that they had finally finished off this bastard that had been praying on. . He looked up and caught the flash of guilt on his brother's face.

"You didn't find the crystal?" He asked, his tone incredulous, fear and anger rising again in equal measure, as he pushed himself to his feet. "But you said it wasn't coming back. You said. .?" He couldn't stop himself from sweeping his gaze around the room again.

"Not quite what I said," Dean admitted, meeting and holding his brother's gaze. He would dearly have loved to have continued lying, to maintain the relief, to wipe that look of panic completely from his younger sibling's features, but that was not a luxury he could afford, not if he had any chance of getting his brother to leave without him. Sam had to go and he had to go now. He was already hurting, in terrible pain, he didn't need to go through any more. Dean wanted to spare him what was to come. He had just lived it, he didn't want his little brother to go through that. He had to get him to leave.

Sam rewound the conversation in his head and let out a breath. "You said he wouldn't be coming back," there was the briefest of pauses before the critical words, another breath "after me." He looked deep into his brother's eyes as tears formed in his own. "No," he shook his head. The ideas were connecting in his head and he tried to stop them, as though that would somehow alter the truth. "You didn't?" he asked softly.

The guilt and love in his brother's eyes was all the answer he needed, but he still didn't want to believe it. "Tell me that you didn't." His tone was more forceful as he scanned his brother's features, but there was still only guilt and love and. . and was that pain?

Denial burned up from his gut, and, although he knew the truth, he searched for evidence that he was wrong. He couldn't have. . .His eyes swept across the room to the rough stone table that eerily resembled an alter in some bad horror movie. There were the tell tale fragments of burnt parchment. Nausea threatened to overwhelm him as the true horror of his brother's actions hit. He turned back to face him and swallowed hard. Shook his head once more. "Why?" he asked, and he could see tears to match his own forming in his brother's eyes, but like his they didn't fall.

"That thing was killing you," Dean replied. "I couldn't. . ." He blinked and swallowed hard, fighting now to control the emotions that the memory evoked as his gut twisted in an agony of tension. "You were screaming," the words were almost whispered now, his head shaking minutely with each phrase. "I couldn't just stand by and let it. . " He paused as his brother's scream echoed clearly in his head. " I couldn't hear you. ." The image of his brother's face contorted in pain. "C. .couldn't watch you. . ." The words choked off.

Sam stared at him for a moment. "So now I have to watch the same thing happen to you? Is that it?" There was more than a hint of anger mixed with the pain. "Don't pull this big brother crap with me Dean," Sam almost spat the words as the emotions coiled around each other and distorted any perspective he had. He was shouting now. "You really think that's better?"

Dean glanced down the guilt twisting a little deeper. His brother was right, surviving this would be far harder, it was not something he was strong enough to do. Wasn't sure that Sam was either, but he had denied his brother the same choice that he had made. There had been only one parchment, only one shot at this. He shook his head, he couldn't have let him die, not for anything, not even if it meant. . . . Still his brother did not have to be here, did not have to watch. "You don't have to stay," he stated. "Get out of here. He won't. .can't come after you now." He took a step forward. "Just leave." It was as close to begging as Dean had ever come. "Please, just leave. Before. ."

Sam was about to argue, about to tell his brother that he was insane that they had to come up with something else that. . . but he saw the tell tale swirl of black and the words froze in his throat. He was too late.

Dean just had time to register the terror on his brother's face before his back ignited in agony and he screamed.

TO BE CONTINUED. .


	2. Leave

Warning:- this chapter contains spoilers for the season 1 episode Faith.

**Chapter 2:- Leave**

Dean had been hurt before, many times. In his line of work it was an occupational hazard, from childhood he'd had more than his share of knocks. He'd been stabbed, cut, slammed into walls, joints had sprained, bones had broken. He'd even been shot once, but he couldn't ever remember pain like this. The initial dig into the soft flesh of his lower back sent sparks of fire that whited his vision, and on its own drew his breath, but then the claw raked with deliberate slowness up towards his shoulder, giving the nerve endings maximum time to screech their distress as they were torn apart, and he screamed because it was his only release from the agony that tore away his thoughts, and severed any other link with the world save the pain. It took forever for the gouging to stop, for the slow deliberate movement to end, before he could finally draw another breath into aching lungs

He opened his eyes just as his knees buckled, and he dropped to them, barely leaning backwards in time to prevent a headlong dive into the concrete. He winced as new agony flared at the jarring impact, and he hugged both arms across his chest as though that would somehow relieve the white hot pain.

"Dean!" Sam moved forward, forgetting for the moment his own injuries as adrenaline crashed through his system. He knew what it was like, knew the intensity of the clawing pain, and would much rather have continued to suffer it himself than to watch it happen to his brother. He dropped to his own knees, gripping Dean's shoulders to help support the older man as he waited for the semi-glazed eyes to regain their focus.

Dean stared as the blurring image slowly formed into his brother's concerned features, felt the strength in the grip that held him, and, for a moment, just a fleeting moment, he was glad that his brother was there. He needed. . . no. . .he wanted the strength that their shared bond gave him, and for just that moment there was a warmth that spread through him and made everything seem OK. Their gazes met and Sam's expression calmed just a little, and for just that moment he knew his brother felt it too.

It couldn't last.

The warmth was chased away by icy tendrils of fear and despair as reality intruded, and Dean knew that that was the last moment of true contact he could afford to share with his younger brother. Sam had to leave, however much he wanted, and oh God he really wanted it. However much he wanted his brother to stay there with him, to keep him company through this, through his. . .through his own death, he couldn't put him through that. He couldn't have him stay and watch this thing tear him to pieces. Couldn't, wouldn't.

He drew in a deep breath, forced one of his lopsided cocky smiles to his lips. "Damn but that hurts like a bitch don't it." He stated, with the best fake cheerfulness he could manage. "Now if you could just get that death grip off my shoulders, I might be able to get myself up off the ground."

"Dean," Sam growled in frustration. He knew what his brother was trying to do and he wasn't going to let him. He wasn't just going to shrug this off. Wasn't going to shrug him off.

"Dude," Dean said looking meaningfully at the white knuckled grip that Sam still clutched him with. "Seriously, you're going to leave indents if you don't let go." He met Sam's gaze again and in a much quieter voice added. "It's hurting me."

The ambiguity of the last comment wasn't lost on either of them. Hurting because he was physically holding so hard? Hurting because emotionally it represented a link that Dean knew he'd have to sever? Or did the 'it' refer to the Demon, that would be back for more and more pain until there was nothing left, maybe all three?

Sam let go, but he did not move away, instead he stood and shifted to Dean's elbow helping him back to his feet. Again Dean appreciated the strength that allowed his younger sibling to even try to help him. He was swaying slightly himself, and still he was there to steady Dean as he pushed to his feet. They stood for a moment regaining their equilibrium.

"Boy, we're in great shape aren't we." Dean stated as he now helped Sam as his brother swayed backwards. "C'mon," he started moving, making for the stone table, the only structure in the otherwise bare room that could offer either of them any support. It was that or admit defeat and sink back down to the floor.

Sam moved slightly slower than Dean and got a chance to look at the long wound that swept up his brother's back, oozing a steady trail of blood down his shirt. He looked down at the cuts on his own arms, across his chest, they were much shorter, and god how they'd hurt. He swallowed down the bile as images slid through his memory.

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL

Dean leaned forward and flicked through the pages. Sam didn't think he'd ever seen him this excited about a book before. Not that this was a proper book, it was more like a journal, more like their father's journal. The pages were uneven, extra pieces had been stuck in or torn out. Some sheets folded open, and there was writing on all of them, uneven ink scrawled across the pages, and sometimes up around the margins.

Sam stood and watched him for a few moments."Do you want some coffee?"

There was no reply as Dean carried on reading and Sam tried not to smile, knowing that his brother would ride him if he behaved like this.

"Hey deaf boy!" Still nothing, "Dean, you don't mind if I borrow the car to go drag racing through town do you?"

This got him a distracted "Hmm"

"Dean!" The louder exasperated tone finally caused his brother to look up. "I asked if you wanted some coffee?"

"Sounds good," Dean replied. "and, if you're volunteering, a burger would be good too I haven't eaten since breakfast."

Sam gave a pained look, "I was only volunteering for coffee ,but I guess the burger joint is just as near." He nodded. " Enjoy your reading," but Dean seemed to already be engrossed back in the journal. Sam let out an exasperated sigh and headed for the door. He was just pulling the handle when Dean spoke.

"Oh, and Sam,"

Sam turned to look at his brother.

"You take my car drag racing and you'll be buying me four new tyres."

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL

"So," Dean spoke round a mouthful of burger, "This guy documented everything we already found out and more. He was more geeky for details than you." He grinned as the comment earned him a pointed stare from his younger sibling. "Anyway, the Demon, whatever it is, nobody really saw it then either, first appeared in 1673, since then its been appearing every 111 years."

"And each time it claims eleven victims," Sam interjected.

Dean nodded. "Captain William Stenson, the guy who wrote the journal, was here in 1895 researching witchcraft, when he stumbled across the information about the Demon and realised that the murders happening in the town were related to the ones in 1784. He then found the link in the parish records to 1673, but its what he found out about the 1784 murders that really interested him."

Dean paused to take another bite of his burger forcing his younger brother to ask. "And that would be?"

"An alleged witch called Hegarty, who claimed she could control who the Demon came for?"

"Claimed?"

"Yes, she apparently stopped it part way through an attack on one of the village elders by diverting its attack to a travelling salesman. She then wrote out several copies of the spell and sold the scrolls to the highest bidders. Didn't do her much good though."

"Why not?" Sam asked, taking a swig from his coke.

"The Demon claimed her as its eleventh victim. Reports claim that her body was the most mutilated of all, and that it took her longest to die."

Sam shook his head "You know as well as I do that that sort of folklore is just designed to scare people.

Dean stuffed the last of his burger in his mouth and chewed it a little before replying. "Could be? On the other hand, forcing a Demon to leave a victim alone might just really piss it off."

"Anything in there about what we're actually dealing with other than just 'a demon?'"

"Nope, no one ever saw more than a few wispy shadows, and the victims were always carried away to be killed," Dean wiped the burger sauce from his mouth before snagging a chip. "but it does tell us how to kill it."

Sam stopped midway through picking up some salad on his fork and stared at his brother. "How?" he asked slightly incredulously.

"It says the source of its power is a crystal, and that if you destroy the crystal before it's claimed its eleventh victim then you will, and I quote here, 'render it harmless for all eternity'"

"So all we have to do is find the crystal?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded again, "Could be easier than that. Stenson found the crystal but it took him three years after the eleventh victim was killed so he put it 'somewhere safe' for the next time the Demon emerged and left the journal as a clue to its whereabouts."

"So all we have to do is follow the clues in the journal."

"Find the crystal and fry its ass before it claims victim number 11."

Sam sat back thoughtfully chewing on some lettuce. "So, if you had one of those spells you couldn't actually stop it from killing, you had to divert it to another victim and condemn someone else to death."

"Yep, that's right," Dean replied, a shadow passing behind his eyes that Sam did not immediately understand.

"I don't think that I could condemn someone else to save. . ." his voice trailed off as Dean blinked and looked away, and at that point his stupidity hit him like a sledgehammer. That's exactly what they had done with Le Grange. Dean had only survived because another had died, but he hadn't known, neither of them had known and there was nothing he could. . . Damn how could he have been so stupid as to open up that barely healed wound. He considered apologising but Dean broke the silence first.

"'Bout the only thing you could do is give up your own life," Dean stated softly. "From the report it seems like using one of the scrolls is a death sentence anyway." He turned back to meet his brother's gaze, whatever emotions had been aroused were firmly shuttered away again, the shadow gone. "And that's one nasty way to kill yourself, pissing off a demon that takes pleasure in torturing its victims to death."

"You think any of the scrolls still exist."

Dean smiled at him. "What you mean apart from this one here," he said opening out a piece of folded yellowed parchment."

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL

Dean carefully brushed the last fragments of burnt yellowed parchment from the table before turning to rest against it. His breathing hitched slightly as he turned to face his brother, his eyes doing a rapid sweep from head down, assessing the various welts and cuts across his brothers arms and chest. Guilt gripped him. He should have abandoned the search for the crystal sooner, he could have spared his brother all of that pain, but he'd been so sure that he knew where it was. That he could stop this thing once and for all, so sure. He tried to block out the memory of running down the stone hallway as his brother screamed, of his shaking hands and even more shaky voice as he lit the candle and recited the spell as his brother screamed. "I'm sorry," he stated softly. Sorry that he hadn't been there sooner, initiated the trade sooner. Sorry that he'd done it at all, that he'd condemned his brother to live with the knowledge that he'd traded his life for him. The Dichotomy of guilt twisted his gut into random painful contortions.

Sam fought back the anger. Anger at the choice his brother had made. Anger at the Demon that would return soon to torture him. Anger at his own failings that had brought them to this point. For all his smarts and college education he hadn't been able to figure out the damn clues, hadn't been able to. . . .

"Sam, you have to leave."

For a moment the words didn't register and then Sam was searching his brother's expression for some sign that he was joking. He couldn't seriously expect him to. . ."No," he stated firmly. They'd already had this discussion. He wasn't going anywhere, whatever happened from this point he would be there for his brother just as Dean would be there for him.

"Sam Please," Dean tried again. "You don't have to watch this. I don't want you to. . ."

"You don't want me to," the words erupted like flames, venting some of the pent up anger. "Well guess what Dean you don't get a choice in this. You haven't left me with one. You don't get one either." He paused, drew in a deep breath, clenched and unclenched his fists. His tone softened. "I'm staying with you," he stated quietly. "You don't have to go through this alone." He did not give voice to the final thought that passed through his mind, did not really want to acknowledge it, could not accept it, despite the inevitiblity of the outcome. Tears welled in his eyes. 'you don't have to die alone.'

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	3. Alone

Author's note:- May be a little longer than I thought. Thank you so much for the reviews- they keep my muse happy and since my muse is the one who makes me write. .just thanks! 

**Chapter3: Alone.**

Dean drew in a deep breath and stared into his brother's eyes. Sometimes, just occasionally, he forgot how strong his little brother could be. His desire to protect him was so powerful, always had been. He knew that it would have been there anyway, was a natural part of having a younger sibling, but his feelings, his protectiveness, had been tempered by circumstances so extreme, that sometimes he just wanted to go back to that point where he could hold his brother safely in his arms and carry him away from the danger, but he couldn't do that any more. Sam was taller than him and carrying him would be a real bitch, and now he was old enough that there was more than just physical harm that could affect him.

This was going to emotionally scar him, he couldn't protect him from that, couldn't wrap him up and carry him away, couldn't force him, let alone persuade him, to leave. He stared at Sam and saw his own fierce loyalties, his own protective desires, reflected back at him. Sam was his own man. He would not leave, and he couldn't help the part of himself that rejoiced at that fact. Selfish though it was, he didn't want to go through this alone.

Didn't want to. . .No! The rejection of his own comfort slammed through his mind, knocking the desire out of its path. . Just no! Sam had to leave, he had to. He couldn't make him share this, couldn't. . . .There had to be a way

He swallowed back the tears as his own churning emotions slowly tore him apart. "Sam, please!" If his little brother was going to be angry with him then he would just have to be angry this was too important. "Please I. . ."

He felt the grip before he caught sight of the shimmering blackness this time, his left arm was wrenched out away from his body, and he leant back to prevent himself from being pulled over. He caught a glimpse of the gnarled white claw as it dug into the flesh of his lower arm, and then his eyes clenched shut, his head snapped back ,and he attempted to stifle the scream as the gouge continued to run down from his elbow to the back of his hand.

Sam watched the second assault on his brother with equal horror to the first. He grabbed Dean's shoulder to support him as he turned and tried to spot the assailant, tried to think of some way that he could stop him, it, but there was not enough substance there to stop, he knew that. They had caught up with it with the tenth victim, had chased it as it dragged him away screaming. They had tried all of their weapons, but everything they tried just sliced through the air and did nothing, not a damn thing. He could almost see why now. Whatever it was it was never fully there, parts shimmered into the light suggesting a form in droplets of black shimmering silk, randomly appearing and fading, blinking on and off, part of a shoulder a sliver of torso, a wisp of thigh.

Then it was gone. Sam felt Dean move back as the hold on his arm was released, not quite realising just how much Dean had been pulling to prevent being dragged away, until the force of the release almost toppled them both back over. He steadied his brother as Dean drew his arm to his chest and curled protectively round it, breathing deeply against the pain.

Dean's breathing was still heavy and erratic as he looked up, tilting his head at a strange angle so that his pain filled eyes looked slightly manic, sweat soaked hair added to the effect. "Sam," the name came out almost as a whisper. He swallowed, took another breath, tried again. "Sam I know you don't want to leave me but. ." He clutched his arm a little tighter into himself as the pain spasmed. "If you stay and watch this, it will destroy you as well as me."

"And leaving you here to face it alone won't?" he asked, his own tone now much calmer, defeated.

Dean shook his head. "You will survive this, you will get over this and carry on without me." He stated confidently, "but not if you stay."

"No," it was Sam's turn to shake his head. "I need you, you can't leave me. You can't."

"We both know there's no choice now," Dean coughed lightly and felt the slight squeeze from Sam's still supportive hand on his shoulder.

Sam looked away. "You should have let it kill me. You shouldn't have used the scroll." His voice almost caught. "You had a choice."

Dean looked down at the floor. "No," he stated softly. "I didn't." He looked back up there was no disguising the tears that formed in his eyes now, no claiming that they were from the physical pain. He tried to hold them back but one rolled stubbornly down his cheek. He stared at his brother waiting for him to turn back and meet his gaze. "You know that I didn't."

And Sam did know, and that's what made it all the harder to accept his brother's sacrifice, because Dean had always played the role of protector, had had very few choices in life. He always did what he had to do no matter what it cost him.

"So don't let it be for nothing, Sam. You have to carry on now. It's up to. . ."

Dean didn't get the next word out. He was ripped out of Sam's grip and thrown sideways across the room, his left arm yanked out at an awkward angle. Sam heard the dull pop as Dean's shoulder dislocated. The agonised cry was cut short as he collided heavily with the wall and slid down it.

"Dean!" Sam shouted his name in reaction, no conscious thought went into his movement. He was across the room and kneeling beside his brother even before he'd properly acknowledged the need to move.

This was a new tactic. The Demon hadn't done this to him. It had simply cut him, at irregular intervals, keeping him guessing when the next would come, but it hadn't thrown him around. Unless you counted when it had dragged him here. Dragged him here. . .suddenly thoughts started to connect, memories slid into place, memories that the pain and the fear had suppressed., memories that he'd been too busy with confronting Dean about his actions to acknowledge, important memories.

The Demon had grabbed him before he'd reached the fireplace. There were two fireplaces where the crystal could be, two that had fitted the clues. Dean had gone to one, he'd gone to the other, but he'd never reached it, never searched it. The crystal could be there and if it was he could destroy it and with it the demon and then Dean wouldn't. . . .

If it hadn't been for the pain, the shock, the physical and mental toll that nearly an hour of torture had had on his system, if he hadn't been dealing with a swirling mix of emotions, anxiety protectiveness, fear, love, guilt, maybe if another jolt of adrenaline hadn't crashed through his system like a tidal wave, then maybe he would have taken time to draw in a breath, to acknowledge what he had to do. Maybe he would have been able to take the time to tell his brother why he was leaving. Where he was going and why, but by the time his thoughts were once again coherent enough to acknowledge his actions, he was already pounding down the corridor. His breaths coming in heavy pants against the chill night air. He'd gone another ten paces before it really hit him, what he'd done, and he slowed to a stop and turned back to the dim light flickering out of the doorway. Dean didn't know why he'd left. He'd left him alone to face the demon. If the crystal wasn't there he doubted he would make it back in time to tell his brother why he'd gone. Dammit, he hadn't even told him that he loved him. He gazed back longingly. He'd come too far to turn back. He didn't have the time, Dean didn't have the time. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Reluctantly he turned once more and set off at the fastest pace his injuries would allow, pounding his path along the rough stone and praying that he wouldn't be too late.

Dean shifted and opened his eyes, the shock of impact had stunned him, the pain from his shoulder was throbbing waves of agony down his side, and he blinked, and choked back the bile. Still, at least this was something that his little brother could help him with. He knew the principles of a field reduction and he was pretty sure Sam would be able to. . .

Sam?

The comforting presence was gone. His little brother should have been hovering next to him but there was only empty air. He snapped his head round panicked. Had he been wrong about the spell, about the demon, had it gone after Sam again? Hurt him?

He scanned the room, nothing. He pushed himself to his feet, fighting back the nausea as he cradled his injured arm, his injured shoulder, protectively against his chest. At least the bastard had gone for the same arm. Thankful for small mercies he pushed himself away from the wall. There was one place in the room he couldn't see, and he staggered across to the stone table so that he could get a look behind it. Nothing, a momentary relief swept over him and he sank down onto the table bowing his head before scanning the room for a final time.

Sam had gone. Sam had left him.

The warring emotions met somewhere deep in his gut and their battle twisted and ached and gnawed. He had wanted Sam to leave. He had needed him to go so much. He had needed him to stay so much. He fought back the tears, he would not let this bastard see him cry. He pulled his arm closer around him, regretting deeply that he had not taken the time to say goodbye, so instead he whispered it into the air around him as he waited for the Demon alone.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	4. Despair?

**Chapter 4 :- Despair**

Dean looked at the wall less than ten feet away and almost laughed at the fact that that seemed too far, dammit he'd only had fifteen minutes with this bastard, Sam had endured at least an hour and had managed to walk out of here. There was a half hearted protest from some inner voice, the one that normally buoyed his confidence, something about the Demon cutting him deeper, hitting him harder, but he didn't believe it, so he dismissed it.

He was just being weak, pathetic.

He drew in a deep breath, that was not how he was going to die, pushing himself up he took a careful step, fighting the light-headedness, the next step was better, and the next. He reached the wall and tried to resist the temptation to lean into it with relief, drawing in another deep breath as he acknowledged what he had to do. He positioned himself, bracing against the pain that he knew was to come. He cursed silently, Mel Gibson had made this look so easy. He could do this.

Without giving himself more time to think he slammed his shoulder back into place, marvelling for a moment at how the pain and relief could strike so simultaneously, before allowing himself to sink to the floor panting heavily. Eventually he turned and sat, cradling his arm once more to his chest. His breathing had just about evened out when the he saw the tell tale swirls of black, felt the grip tighten again around his wrist and then there was just a sheer white wall of pain.

When his senses settled he was lying close to the stone table, his shoulder throbbing as badly as before, his arm trapped at an awkward angle. He shifted, biting back the sob, as the pain pulsed, and a grey wave of cold nausea swept up across his face, blanketing him in a cold sweat. He fought the urge to retch, holding himself as still as he could on his shaky arm as he waited the sensation out. Finally, he allowed himself to move, slowly. He brought himself to a sitting position, and drew in several long deep breaths. His shoulder had been wrenched out of the socket again. It had followed the same action as the first time, same action, same result, more pain. The bastard was playing with him. Slowly he pushed himself to standing, staggering across to the wall, needing to return to the state of blissful relief he positioned himself once more. This time he hesitated, closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. This time he knew how much it was going to hurt, but dammit he wasn't going down without a fight. Now that Sam was safe there had to be something he could try. There had to be. . . . The 'something' of the thought was swallowed by the sharp pain of impact as he slammed the shoulder back into place again, and his thoughts stalled. The world greyed out, and he came to sitting leaning awkwardly against the wall, unsure of how much time had passed.

He glanced around nervously, looking for the tell-tale wisps of black that would swirl into view just before the pain hit. He hugged his arm protectively against him, trying to block any chance of the Demon grabbing it for a third time. He had to think. There had to be something that he could do. He needed a weapon, something, anything that he could fight back with. Maybe he could catch those black swirls, maybe if he caught it just right, maybe. . He caught the movement only in his peripheral vision and then the claw dug into his shoulder and raked down, and his only vent for the pain was the low scream that was ripped from him.

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL

Sam ran. His lungs burned, his cut and abraded skin protested, the stitch in his side stabbed painfully, and still he ran. He was too far away now to hear the screams, but the last one he had heard still echoed through his consciousness, still fuelled movement from muscles which should have long ago given up. He was not going to let Dean die. He was going to stop this. He was. .

The determination was interrupted by a stumble as he caught his foot on a tree root, off balance he staggered forward, barely catching himself on the nearby trunk, to avoid a painful fall to the ground. Even in his adrenaline overloaded system there was a reaction, his heart pumping faster, his vision spinning. He righted himself and stood, holding himself upright, as he dealt with the falling sensation that persisted even though he was now still. It took a moment, and he gulped air gratefully into overtaxed lungs, his body now taking advantage of this brief respite from running. He blinked in the dimming evening light and took his bearings. Not far to the cabin now, not far.

All he had to do was start running again, push himself away from the tree and start running. If he hadn't stopped he was sure that he would have made it all the way to the cabin. So why was starting moving again so hard?

He tried to ignore the trembling in his arms as he pushed away from the security of the tree, tried to ignore the residual weakness that was making taking the next step hard. He had to start running again, had to. He took another step that was far too slow and then another, forcing the limb forward faster, faster, faster. He deliberately leant forward, giving himself no choice but to bring his leg through quickly in an effort to stop overbalancing, and again, and again until his pace had built up and he was running again.

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL

Dean drew in another painful breath and tried to force himself to move from his prone position, to not just lay there and wait to die. The fight had drained out of him, it had been slow, it had been painful, but he no longer had the will to fight back. He had tried to pull himself together enough to strike back against it, had managed to force his shoulder back into place at least once more or was it twice? He'd stumbled back to the table more times than he could remember, looking for anything he could use as a weapon against it. In desperation he'd even thrown the candle wax at it. Hot wax aimed at where the Demon's eyes should have been. He'd been slammed into the table for that, pulled away and slammed again and again until his ribcage was on fire, until breathing hurt. Then he'd been left long enough to recover. Long enough to sit up and start moving around. Long enough to think about making for the door and the outside, and a possible new source of weapons. Long enough to make his move, and be tripped by the entrance so that he went down hard, inches from the threshold, as a clawed hand slammed into his side and drew new rivulets of blood. Long enough to take away his hope.

Now he just wanted it to end, just wanted the pain to go away. Finally, it was too much, and the admission cost him a piece of his soul, because life was not something you gave up easily. Life was something you fought for tooth and nail until your last breath, but he couldn't fight any more. The pain was too much, the thought was there, mixed with guilt and regret. He just wanted it to end.

He raised his head shakily, scanned the silent seemingly empty room. "Come on you bastard," he shouted as loudly as his protesting ribs and raw throat would allow. "Finish it."

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL

Sam fumbled with the latch on the door, almost falling through as it gave, and the door to the cabin creaked open. He allowed his eyes to adjust for a moment, scanning the dim interior for the fireplace. It was just off to the left up two wooden steps to what had once been the main room. He lurched forward, his ungainly half falling run now the only way he could force his limbs to move. He headed for the fireplace, but diverted at the last minute to drag the torn and dusty drapes apart to allow the fading sunlight into the room. He coughed as the dust spread in a cloud around him but ignored the irritation as he moved to the fireplace. His eyes scanning as he dropped to his knees. His fingers then took over as he traced around every stone, looking for any sign that one of them was loose, ignoring the scrapes as the rough stone took the skin from his knuckles. He moved as methodically as he could. Ignored the voice that was screaming in his head, that he was taking too long, that Dean didn't have the time. He should work faster, move quicker, ignore the detail. He ignored the voice because he knew that it was wrong, knew that his best chance was to remain calm, to search thoroughly, to miss nothing. The next stone could be the one, if he skipped any he might miss it, and so he suppressed the biting frustration and worked as carefully as his trembling muscles would allow.

He was halfway through when the cold fear hit, and he stopped abruptly. Panic swept through his mind in an unreasoning tangle. What if it wasn't here? What if he was too late? What if the Demon had already . .? What if he couldn't find the crystal? The shaking of his hands increased as his breathing rate kicked up and his chest tightened. Spots danced before his eyes. What if. . .? He felt himself drop to his knees as the rising panic response wreaked havoc on his already weakened system. Darkness started clawing in at the edges of his vision, and the questions abruptly ceased as despair took over. He was failing and if he failed his brother would die. Dean would. . . He closed his eyes tightly against the tears that welled. No! he was too close. . too close. No, just no, he couldn't let this happen, not now. He drew in a deliberately slow, deep breath, forced his mind to blank all thought, concentrated on his breathing until it settled out slow and even.

He opened his eyes and let out a breathy curse. He couldn't afford the time. .he cut off the thought before it had time to form further, knowing that it wouldn't help, that it had the potential to debilitate him again. With deliberate care and a single focus he went back to searching, his mind only on the crystal. He would allow himself the luxury of thinking about his brother again only when he had the crystal.

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL

"Beg."

Dean blinked, considered for a moment if he had spoken, if that was what he had heard. No, he was fairly sure that it wasn't him, didn't sound like him and why would he have. . ?

"Beg."

The single word had been uttered just behind him and to the left he was sure now. He was sitting hunched forward in the middle of the floor, curled around the pain from his chest, from his arms. He turned awkwardly to look for the source but there was nothing, not even the tell tale slivers of blackness. Was he hallucinating now? Was there. . ?

He froze, hot breath blew across the back of his neck, this time from the right. He tensed, waiting for the onslaught of pain. He waited, the breath continued to tickle across his skin, sweat ran down his face and dripped off his chin, his own breath was held against the ache in his lungs. What was it waiting. .?

"Beg for death," the tone was a mellow tenor, soft almost lilting, persuasive. "Beg me to kill you and end your pain."

Dean let the air escape slowly, as the voice invaded his senses, and blanketed him in a soft calm acceptance. That was what he wanted, needed. He needed the pain to end.

"Beg me," the voice insisted.


	5. Spirit

**Chapter 5: Spirit.**

Sam's hand stopped moving and it took several moments before his mind acknowledged why. He blinked, staring at the edge of the fireplace, at the unmoving appendage. That was it, the last stone, and none of them were lose, which meant it wasn't there, which meant. . . No! Once again his mind screamed the necessary denial. Fingers of despair wrapped themselves around the guarding wall that he had built against them and began to pull it away, to allow the negative emotion to seep around it, to pull him down to a state of impotent inaction. No! He slammed the wall back in place. He would not give up, not while there was even the slightest hope.

His eyes frantically scanned the fireplace for anything that he could have missed, anything, there must be. . . . Of course, how could he have been so stupid? The brickwork carried on inside the fireplace and up the chimney. He threw himself forward and down, letting his fingers once again take over as he continued the search.

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL

"Beg me to kill you," the syrupy voice repeated and Dean felt something almost gentle brush down his cheek.

Dean gave a weak cough. There was a huge aching need inside him, a need to end the fear and the pain, the waiting, the torture. It was simple enough, all he had to do was utter a few words, beg him, and it would all be over.

It would end.

The pain was too much, fiery welts already covered his arms and torso, muscles ached, cracked bones screamed and his body shook, from fear? from cold? from a rapidly developing fever? It would be so easy to end this, to drift off into oblivion. All he had to do was beg him. That's all he had to do.

He licked dry lips. "No," he said softly.

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL

Sam jumped up, dislodging more soot that coated his body, clinging to the tatters of his shirt and clogging in the fresh blood, dripping from wounds that his recent exertions had opened up, to form a black congealing mass that caked his skin. He didn't notice, wouldn't have cared if he had. The only acknowledgement he gave to the billowing black clouds was to cough them out of his lungs as he continued his ever more frantic search. His thoughts were focused only on that, only on his rapidly dwindling hope. He was standing inside the chimney now, barely enough room for his broad shoulders as he reached up higher into the blackness, until he could reach no further, and he had to jump to feel the next brick, the next bastard solid, unyielding brick, and he knew now that it was futile, that he was a lot taller than the recorded height of William Stenson at 5 foot 9, that he couldn't physically have hidden it this high, and yet he couldn't stop, couldn't give up, couldn't accept the possibility that it wasn't there.

He dislodged another billowing cloud of soot and his lungs once again protested with violent convulsions, and he finally dropped down defeated. He sank to a semi crouch and blinked the dust from his eyes as he looked out into the darkening room. There had to be something else, there just had to be.

There had to be.

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL

"No!" Dean repeated the word with more strength, more confidence. "Never," he stated simply, finally. If he was going to die, then it would be with his dignity intact. His father had taught him to be stronger than this, much stronger. His strength of character had been forged by another demon from childhood, from his earliest memories, through hundreds of hunts. He would not beg one of these bastards, no matter what it did to him. He couldn't beg.

Adrenaline surged through his system as he resolved to fight once more, colours brightened, thoughts gained focus. It wanted him to beg for death, but what if it was more than that, what if it needed him to beg? What if it couldn't kill him without that? It would explain the varying state of mutilation of the bodies, the difference in time it took the victims to die, depending on when they broke, depending on when they. . . The claws slammed back into his side, just below the last puncture wounds, white hot shards of pain erupted up his flank and for a moment he couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

"You will beg me." The tone had shifted, much harsher, no longer trying to persuade, just intimidate. "You will."

The claws were dragged out, the pain burned and Dean clamped down on the scream, cutting it off abruptly. He knew now that he wouldn't. If it needed him to beg before it could kill him then it was going to have a long wait, a damn long wait. He turned his attention to the door. He was going to get out of here, if he had to crawl, if it dragged him back. He no longer cared. He was going to try anyway because he wasn't just going to lie here and die. Shakily he pushed himself off the ground, leaning heavily into the wall, he made it to his feet, blinking sweat and blood from his eyes, he focused as well as he could on the still too blurry entrance to the room and took a step.

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL

Sam's breathing was harsh, his nostrils flared as he blew out a deep breath, attempting to calm himself, to think, to consider what he'd missed. He scanned the fireplace again, but he knew even as he did so that he was wasting his time. He'd covered it, and the crystal wasn't there.

He searched back through his memory, back through the clues that they'd followed to this point, for any mistakes they'd made. He shook his head, no. Everything they'd found led here, to these two adjacent cabins to one of these two fireplaces.

He turned and was running before his mind had properly acknowledged the thought.

If it wasn't in this one then it had to be in the other one. They'd reached them at the same time. He'd been grabbed before he touched a brick. Dean had heard it, had come to the door to see what was happening, had pulled himself away from the sight of his younger sibling being dragged away by a demon that tortured its victims to death, to complete his search. Not the best circumstances to conduct a thorough search in, especially since he'd only had minutes before the trail would've gone cold, had no way of knowing where the demon would drag Sam to. Faced with staying longer to search more thoroughly in the hope that he would find the crystal, or potentially losing his brother forever, Sam knew what choice Dean would've taken. He would have tried the search, but only for as long as he could risk. Dean wouldn't have lost track of him, which meant he could have missed something, and even though Sam knew that that decision had possibly cost them both dearly, he couldn't fault his older brother for making it, because he knew it's the choice he would have taken himself.

The cabin was a mirror image of the one he'd just been in, and there was a moments disorientation as he adjusted to the reverse layout, and then he was in front of the fireplace, dropping to his knees, he didn't bother with the outside, Dean would have covered those bricks in the little time he'd had. He scrambled forwards and began running his fingers around the interior bricks.

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL

It let him get to the doorway, let him stumble over the threshold before slamming him into the frame. Dean just had time to acknowledge the grinding bones as his ribcage took the impact, and then the pain hit and nothing else registered until he came to on his knees, panting harshly as he blinked blurry images into some form of focus. His side was on fire, with every breath the pain fizzed and burned across the surface of his ribs, dancing like water running over a shallow riverbed, each drop, each bubble a stab of pain. Slowly he shifted himself to the wall, using his good arm he gripped the door frame and pushed himself once more to a shaky stand. He took a step.

The push almost knocked him over and he stumbled backwards, it wasn't as hard as the others had been, on a relative scale it hardly hurt. He steadied himself and stepped forward again, one step, two, three, he had almost regained the ground he'd lost when it pushed again, a little harder this time and he was sure he heard a laugh as he struggled to remain on his feet. He straightened himself as much as he could, but his body would not unfurl completely from its protective crouch around his injured arm, his injured ribs.

He was no longer scared, no longer confused. He knew he was going to die here, alone. Knew that even if he never begged it, his injuries would eventually kill him, but that didn't matter because Sam was at least safe, and he now had a purpose, a focus. He needed to make it through that door. He took four rapid steps forward, almost made it before the impact lifted him off the floor and threw him down again. He landed hard and once more the world whited out.

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL.

Sam couldn't quite believe it when the brick moved, he shifted forwards to get a better angle and dug his already bleeding fingertips into the loose material that packed it in place. If the passing minutes it had taken to find it seemed to stretch forever, the few seconds that it took to prize the brick out from the position it had lain in for over a hundred years, seemed to stretch for an eternity, frustratingly it was lengthened as it stuck when it was almost three quarters out, but then it pulled free, and his hand scrambled into the hole and pulled out a pink, shimmering, pointed, multifaceted stone, no bigger than an egg- the crystal.

Sam stared at it even as he scrambled backwards out of the fireplace and to his feet, unable to contain the feeling of elation that really had no place until he had destroyed it, until he was back with Dean and he knew he was alive but. . .he had found it. The object of the frantic, literally life or death search. He had found it.

The relief that flooded through his system threatened to overwhelm his already overtaxed emotional state, and once again deny him the focus he needed to complete his task, and he swayed dizzily for a moment before he managed to regain his control. He had to destroy it now. He turned and ran back to the doorway, to the stone and sledgehammer they had placed in the middle between the two cabins ready for whoever found it. Carefully he positioned the stone, and raised the hammer, that he knew he no longer had the strength to even lift, high into the air, smashing it down with an accuracy that he'd never managed when chopping logs, right in the center of the crystal pulverizing it to dust with a single blow.

He dropped to his knees it was over.

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL.

Dean could no longer make it to standing, it was too much effort, caused too much pain, and so he crawled. One arm tucked, useless into his tattered shirt, he crawled forward, inch by painful inch. He made it to the doorway and waited for the painful pull backwards, the smashing blow, the claws that would rake his leg as they dragged him back, but it never came.

He inched forward a little more, forward slowly forward until he was out of the room, out of his tomb, wholly in the corridor. He couldn't quite believe it, was sure the blow would strike again at any time, the anticipation almost worse than the act, but it didn't come, for long seconds it didn't come and then he caught the movement ahead of him, the flittering twist and he knew that this time it would be over, the playing was over, begging or not it was going to strike the death blow, and instinctively he twisted away from it.


	6. Rescue

**Chapter 6 : Rescue**

Sam wasn't sure where he was finding the strength. He'd passed exhaustion what seemed like hours ago. His body had protested that it was near collapse, more than once, and yet still it moved when he asked. It was almost as if he couldn't feel the pain anymore, and yet, simultaneously, he was fully aware of the burns and aches. He felt weak, and yet his feet pounded the ground, one in front of the other, because none of it was important. His exhaustion, his weakness and his pain, were irrelevant. He had only one focus, and that was getting to his brother.

This time when the relief hit, when he saw his brother, saw that he was moving, saw that he was alive; it was like sunlight flooding a room when a blind was pulled, and he savoured the sensation for just a moment. He let it wash over him, bathed in it, pausing mid-step to take a breath. "Dean," the acknowledgement dropped almost silently from his lips, and finally he realised just how afraid he'd been that he would be too late, that the last memories he would have would be of his brother's screams, and a mangled corpse. The tears formed and this time they fell, clouding his vision as he began to move forward again. Stumbling a little as his body now, perversely, seemed to want to give up. When he was close, so close.

He reached out to steady himself on the wall, his hand touching the rough gnarled surface, his head coming up. He drew in a sharp breath against the aching in his lungs, as he finally looked for more in his brother than signs of life. His mind acknowledging the awkward curled posture, the arm hanging at an odd angle, the strafing bloody wounds, the gaunt agonised face, and faint muscle tremors. Maybe he had celebrated too soon?

His steps forward once again took on an urgency, but as he moved Dean curled away from him. "Dean," he called out, as he recognised the instinctive reaction to danger, but he wasn't a danger, and the slight movement away hurt, even though he knew Dean had not seen him, didn't know that it was him, probably thought that he was that thing, there to take another swipe, and his breath hitched as he tried to form a denial. "Dean, it's OK it's me." He dropped to his knees, not sure if his brother could hear him or not. He tried again. "It's me, Sam, You're going to be OK."

Dean was waiting for death, suspended in a half waking limbo, his mind ready on some levels to accept the inevitable, but his instincts still fighting it. There was more movement, and something else, sound, speech, words, but they weren't quite processing. The bastard was probably cajoling, or ordering him to beg again. He sucked in a breath. "No. . .won't. . ." he managed to squeeze out hesitantly. "Won't beg. . . " he completed, trying for defiance but only exposing his true weakness as even the cough that followed held no strength.

Sam inched closer, scanning his brother for somewhere to touch him. He needed that reassurance of contact, needed to re-establish that contact, to get his brother to see that it was him, and why the hell would he think that he was supposed to beg? For what? But there was nowhere, nowhere that was not covered by a cut or a bruise, or a scrape. Finally he grabbed his hand, tried to hold it still against the shakes, but even if that had been possible then the tremors from his own muscles thwarted him.

"Dean its Ok, you don't have to . . ." he couldn't quite bring himself to say beg. It caught in his throat; he couldn't imagine his brother being forced to beg for anything. "You don't have to say anything. It's gone for good this time." He paused scanning his brother's face for any sign of recognition, gripping his hand tightly now. "Dean?"

"Sam?" Dean's focus was fuzzy, but the words were finally processing. The blurry outlines forming into sharper edges, and, even through the grime and soot that caked his hair, Dean recognised his younger brother.

The tears flowed again as the gleam of recognition formed in Dean's eyes, and Sam was too exhausted to even try to hold them back, as they streamed down his cheeks leaving white tracks as evidence of their passage. He sniffed them back as a tired smile broke through. "It's gone for good Dean, I found the crystal and destroyed it." He paused to smile again. "You're going to be all right. Help is on the way." He tried hard to be calm, to be reassuring, to believe it himself, so that his brother would believe it, but Dean was a long way from all right, was struggling to catch his breath properly, and his skin had a worryingly translucent quality, seeming to glow under the thin sheen of sweat, and instead of relief his expression still held fear.

Sam could understand that. He'd been there himself, nearly two hours ago now, but he'd been there himself. Torture involved more than just pain, and the effects didn't go away when the physical violence stopped.

"Sam," Dean said, returning the grip on his hand and trying to use it to pull himself up towards his brother. There was something important he should do, something that he needed to stop. Sam needed to get away before it came back. It wasn't safe. He had to warn him. His breaths were sharp and painful. He needed to speak but somehow he couldn't get enough air. He had to warn his brother before. . . "Sam!"

Sam watched horrified as Dean tried to pull himself up, tried to speak, but it was clear his breathing was compromised. He said his name and then went limp, dropping back onto the hard stone floor. "Dean!"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam acknowledged that help was already there. The muffled shouts, and flashes of torchlight that danced in patterns as their owners ran down the corridor behind him evidenced that. It was the only thing that prevented him from firing up into his own panicked anxiety bomb, or dropping into a well of despair. He wasn't entirely sure which course his body would have taken, or maybe it would have just ripped him in two, but the signs of help arriving were just enough to prevent either, as he gripped his brother's hand more tightly. "Hold on Dean, help's here."

He was vaguely aware of an oxygen mask being placed over his face, vaguely aware of a slight sharp prick in his arm, vaguely aware of the attempts to prise his brother's finger's from his, but mostly his focus was on what the EMTs were doing for Dean. He watched them as they knelt down and swore at the state he was in. Saw the momentary acknowledgement of the horror, before their professional personas dropped into place to mask it, watched as they worked frantically to stabilise him. Held his focus until they were strapped to the chopper heading for St Clare's County Hospital, and then even he couldn't fight any longer, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL

"Doctor?" Sam asked again, impatiently.

"Aren't you even slightly interested in your own condition and prognosis?" Dr. Stevens asked.

"My brother?"

The Dr Sighed heavily, Sam's recovery instructions were clearly going to have to wait until after he'd updated him on the patient in the neighbouring bed. "Well, your brother was very lucky. He has several deeper puncture wounds to the abdomen, but fortunately there were no major organs damaged, and no damage to the bowel, although we'll have to watch closely for signs of infection. He has four broken ribs, one of which punctured a lung, which we've dealt with. The surface abrasions are deep and cover large tracts along his arms, torso and legs; all of them have been cleaned and stitched. His shoulder is going to need surgery to repair the dislocation, I'm afraid it's a bit of a mess but with physiotherapy he should be able to regain full movement." He looked across at the other bed. "He has quite a long recovery ahead of him but he's young and strong, as I say he was lucky. Lucky we got to him when we did."

"So he's going to be all right?" Sam pressed.

The doctor looked back at him. "Given time, yes."

That was all Sam needed to hear. He dropped his head back onto the pillow and allowed himself to relax. Dean would be all right. He turned his head. Now, if only he would wake up so that he could yell at him for pulling that stupid stunt with the parchment, and so that he could thank him for pulling that stupid stunt with the parchment. He gave a small smile. Oh yes, that was going to be a real chick flick moment. Dean would hate it. Come on Dean, Wake up.


	7. Epilogue

Author's note:- Ok people seemed to want a little more- I hope this satisfies. Let me know what you think- J

**Epilogue**

The first thing Dean was aware of as his mind drifted back to consciousness, was that he could drift back to consciousness. He had expected to be dead and this didn't feel like dead, this felt like waking up in the hospital, with that antiseptic smell, and the good drugs, keeping you from feeling just exactly how crap you were gonna feel when they started weaning you off them. They usually started you moving around at about the same time as they did that, just, as far as he could tell, to maximise the pain of recovery. He had that to look forward to then, lots of. . .he swore silently to himself as he shifted slightly and fire exploded down his side. Damn if it felt that bad when he was doped, what the hell was it going to feel like when he. .

"Dean?"

He recognised Sam's voice, recognised the concern, and forced his eyes to open, forced his head to turn slightly in the direction of the sound. He could hear movement, could see a blurry figure moving closer, and he blinked several times to clear his vision as the world drifted back into focus. Sure enough it was Sam's slightly bruised face that finally loomed above him, a relieved smile only partially covering the concern in his eyes.

"Welcome back," Sam said, "I was beginning to think you'd never wake up."

"How'd you know I was awake?" Dean asked, aware that Sam had spoken before he'd opened his eyes.

"Must've been the girly squeal when you tried to move," Sam's grin widened. God he'd waited so long to tease his brother again. He'd spent a good portion of the last few days worried that he may never get a chance to, as Dean fought to survive the combination of injury and infection, it had been touch and go at times, and Sam, despite his own injuries, had been awake through most of it. The relief at seeing him finally awake and lucid almost exploded through him.

Dean hadn't been aware that he'd made a sound at all, but then it had hurt like. . . "I did not squeal like a girl," he responded as his mind caught up with the gibe. "I don't believe I made a sound at. . . ngh" He had shifted a little whilst speaking, and the pain forced air out with an involuntary gasp. He finished the move, gritting his teeth to avoid any more sound as he repositioned himself. He drew in a couple of deep breaths before admitting, "OK, it may have been a manly grunt."

"Are you OK?" Sam asked, the concern pushing itself to the front, as he studied his brother's still ashen features, just another reminder of how close it had been, after four days he still looked like a wreck. "Should I get a nurse or a doctor?"

"No, I'm good," Dean stated.

Sam was unconvinced, the lines of pain were drawn across his brother's face as clear as lines on a map, and he knew how much his own injuries still hurt. "They can give you something more for the pain," he suggested.

"I told you, mom, I'm OK," Dean shifted one last time, finally finding the position he wanted propped against the pillows, it was difficult because his left arm was strapped to immobilise his shoulder. "Now, quit fussing." He waved his brother off. "Besides," he said studying Sam a little more closely, the dark circles still under his eyes, the bandages that covered his arms and torso. "You look like you could still use a doctor yourself."

Sam turned to sit on the edge of Dean's bed, not taking his eyes off his brother, reading the reflected concern in his expression. "I'm doin' OK," he said, knowing that Dean needed the reassurance, knowing that even while that thing had been killing him Dean had been more worried about him than he had about himself. He swallowed back the surge of anger that that acknowledgement pulled from deep within. Sometimes, just sometimes he wished that his brother didn't feel so damn protective towards him. If he hadn't he wouldn't have pulled that stupid stunt, wouldn't have tried to trade his own life for. . .

"How long was I out?" Dean asked.

Sam stared for a moment; did Dean know that he needed to change the subject; that if he didn't the anger would build to the point where he would blurt out his feelings? He wasn't ready for that, not yet, and Dean sure as hell wasn't strong enough to take it yet, but it would come. "Four days," he finally answered.

Dean drew in as deep a breath as he could manage against his injured ribs and blew it out slowly. "Four?"

Sam nodded. "An infection set in almost immediately. You were running a fever of 104 at one point." His eyes clouded for a moment as he struggled with the memories of Dean thrashing about incoherent and weak. The fear of loss still resonated through his system. He bit his lip, pushing the emotion and the memory back, aware that Dean was watching him that he couldn't have failed to miss the emotion. He deliberately lightened his tone. That was all over now. Dean would recover, they both would. "When that broke they pretty much kept you sedated to give your body a chance to heal. Although looking at you, I think they should have given it a little longer."

"Hey, you're not exactly the poster boy for good health yourself," Dean pointed out, recognising the emotional shift. It had been close then.

Still, they would do what they always did, shrug it off and carry on. He stared into his brother's eyes for a moment, who was he fooling? This one would take an emotional dance for a few days at the very least, there were things unsaid, issues unresolved. Would they stay that way as so many of them did? He supposed that would depend on how deep they could bury them.

"I didn't nearly die," Sam let the words out before he'd considered them; dammit he was supposed to be changing the subject.

'Oh, yes you did,' Dean didn't verbalise the thought, but he knew that if he had done nothing then his brother wouldn't be here. Oh yes, this dance would be interesting, would either of them be able to let the emotion out? "Hey, it'll take more than a few scratches and a little fever to take me out," Dean stated forcing a grin. He glanced around, time to truly change the subject. "So the nurses, any of them pretty?"

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL

Sam walked into the room and Dean looked up expectantly. "Did you get it?" he asked leaning forward a little in anticipation.

Sam pulled the paper bag from behind his back and held it up. "I had to smuggle it past the nurses' station," he replied walking forwards. "I don't think they'd approve of the triple cheese."

"I don't care," Dean virtually snatched the bag from his brother's hand and pulled the wrapped burger out of it. "If all I get is the hospital food, I swear I'll starve." He took a bite and grinned happily chewing. "Dude, I love you," he stated, his mouth still half full.

"If only the women in your life knew that all it took was a double burger with extra cheese," Sam smiled back. It was good to see his brother more animated. The recovery was still taking a lot out of him, especially the surgery and physio on his shoulder.

"Some of them do," he replied mischievously, "trouble is it only lasts 'til I'm hungry again."

Sam rolled his eyes in mock disgust, and settled into the chair, turning his attention to the game Dean had been watching on the TV. "So who's winning," he asked, gesturing towards it.

Dean filled in the score and finished his burger, licking the last of the juice from his fingers before flicking the off on the remote. Sam turned to look at him surprised.

"So what's up?" Dean asked, he knew his brother well enough to notice the difference in demeanour. Sam had come here for more than just to deliver a burger.

Sam thought about stalling for a moment but one look into Dean's clear hazel eyes was enough to let him know that wasn't going to work. His brother knew him too well. "We need to talk," he paused looking down at his hands, "about what happened."

Dean knew he was right, knew that far from being buried the emotional fallout was driving wedges between them, but he didn't really want to talk about it, didn't know how to. How to let those emotions to the surface, the ones he held deep within, the ones that exposed his vulnerabilities. How could he let those out and still be the strong man that his father had taught him to be, expected him to be, even as a child? He didn't know how. He shook his head. "No, we don't," he stated firmly. "It's done, we both survived end of. . ."

"You shouldn't have used the scroll," Sam stated, allowing a little of the anger out. "You were trading your life for mine, you didn't. . .don't have the right to do that."

Dean stared back as their gazes met. "I had to save you."

"Not by killing yourself."

"By any means necessary," Dean stated, and he'd had the means in his hand. Sam couldn't expect him not to have used it.

Sam stood, shaking his head. "No," he took a couple of paces away before turning. "It was a stupid stunt. You didn't even know if it would work."

Powerful memories pushed tears into Dean's eyes; they hovered on the edge of forming. "Didn't matter, I had to try," he replied quietly.

"You don't always have to protect me Dean," a certain amount of resentment in his tone, that was built from more than just this most recent incident. "I'm not a kid anymore I can take care of myself."

"I know," Dean stated, his tone even softer. "You saved my life." He paused for a moment. "You saved both of us."

Sam's eyes searched his brother's expression, reading the pain, the guilt, the sincerity of the reply. His emotional bubble deflated as quickly as it had formed. He sank back into the chair. "You have to promise me that you won't do anything like that again."

Dean stared at him. "Promise that I won't dive between you and the speeding bullet, that I won't push you out of the way of the oncoming train."

"Hey what are you, superman?" Sam's light jibe was lost in the tears that formed in his own eyes.

Dean ignored it. "Promise that I won't stand between you and the next demon?" Dean shook his head. "I can't and neither can you." A tear finally escaped down his cheek. "I'm your brother Sam and I'm always gonna try to protect you. You're just gonna have to live with that." He paused and gave a slight smile, "And I'm gonna have to live with you saving me every so often." He gave another smile. "Just don't make a habit of it because these stitches itch like crazy."

"That's the new skin forming," Sam supplied helpfully and smiled back before sniffing back his own tears as Dean turned the TV back on. Chick flick moment over, they'd managed to get some of the emotion out. Now the healing could really begin.

SUPERNATURALSUPERNATURAL

Dean bent down and picked up a piece of charred wood, staring at the ruins of the two cabins. Both fireplaces had been smashed to rubble, the cottages burnt to the ground. Sam claimed that they had both caught fire that night when he'd destroyed and burned the crystal. That the intensity of the blaze followed by several days of heavy rain had caused both fireplaces to collapse.

Dean knew that he was lying.

He knew beyond doubt that the crystal had been in the fireplace that he was supposed to search. That if he'd stayed to find it, he could have saved them both a lot of pain.

Sam had been in no state to do this much damage on that night. Dean wasn't even sure how he'd found the strength to come here and search, but he had, and Dean admired his little brother for that.

He stared at each pile of rubble, walking a little closer. Sam had come back after being let out of the hospital, and had destroyed the evidence of Dean's failure, to save him from the guilt that now clawed at his gut. If only he had stayed and searched. . .but he hadn't, and, despite the guilt, he knew it was something that he couldn't have done.

Sam knew that too. Sam lied because he wanted to protect him. He gave a slight smile; they weren't as different as he sometimes believed. He threw the charcoal away and turned to head back to the car. As far as Sam was concerned he bought the lie.

Fin


End file.
